Chapter 38
I’m slowly walking around the first floor of the house, one arm wrapped around my midsection, my other hand cupped over my mouth as I think.
I can’t get the visit with Alice out of my head.
Learning that the Brook family tried to buy Wildwood has shaken me, even more than the knowledge that the Brooks may have screwed over my family centuries ago.
I didn’t realize how attached I’d become to my family’s home until learning someone had tried to snatch it away, and now I feel a possessiveness over Wildwood.
I’ve made it to the conservatory and pause a moment, taking in the creeping, dying plants around me. I will make this space beautiful again.
I sit down at the wrought iron table and close my eyes.
I think back, as I have been doing constantly, to all my interactions with Madeline.
She has been so welcoming, going out of her way to befriend me, to make me feel like family.
But now it feels like it was a ruse. It’s not that trying to buy Wildwood in and of itself is questionable.
But it’s one more thing she’s hidden from me.
And if I am to believe Alice, that my uncle hated the Brooks, well that makes Madeline’s lie by omission even more questionable.
The thought that has been slowly crystallizing in my brain forces itself to the forefront.
I’ve been dancing around it, really, for days now.
I go through a train of logic. I know I’m being haunted by someone who died here long ago.
Someone who is angry. I also believe that the Brooks are hiding something from me.
I’ve felt this from my conversations with Madeline, and Alice basically confirmed that Madeline has not been forthright with me.
Here’s where it gets challenging. The implications of all those pieces if they are indeed connected.
The theories that I inevitably come to. Newfield Village is a tiny place.
There must have been just a handful of families here at the beginning.
The ghost has been sharing her story with me.
She trusts me. She’s here, in Wildwood, in my house.
It seems only logical to think she is my ancestor.
And, while it seems deranged to even think this, if the Brooks are hiding something, is it that they played a role in her death?
If she was accused of witchcraft, was it the Brooks who first accused her?
I don’t want to think these thoughts. They complicate everything, leave me unable to trust my neighbors, essentially the only people I know here. Where does that leave me? Alone, says the voice in my head. Totally alone.
* * *
The house shifts and I feel it in my body, even in the depths of sleep. I jolt awake, with the sensation of falling. Hugo must have been sleeping deeply, as he wakes a few moments after me, the shadow of his ears pricking up. He must sense something too.
I sit a moment, heart beating so loudly in my ears that I’m certain it can be heard throughout the house. Hugo lets out a low guttural growl, and slowly and quietly pulls himself into a standing position, his wolf-descendant instincts kicking into gear.
“Easy boy,” I whisper, suddenly wanting to remain as inconspicuous as possible, to melt into the painted trees that surround my bed.
The house lets out a haunting creak and Hugo books it for the bedroom door, barking ferociously. I am taken aback by his bravery before realizing I don’t want him going out there alone.
“Hugo!!” I shriek, bounding out of bed and racing down the hall and down the stairs.
I run through the parlor, chasing after the frenetic barking and suddenly I feel a blinding pain on my toe.
I crumple to the floor, crying out in pain.
It’s that damn nail again. I rock back and forth holding my foot, breathing hard from my nose, trying to stifle a scream.
Hugo whimpers and appears by my side, abandoning whatever he was chasing.
He looks at me with worried eyes and makes a pacing figure eight in front of me.
The pain is strong enough that it numbs the wave of fear I felt running down the stairs.
I inspect my toe and this time I’ve done real damage.
The toe is burning and the skin under the nail is already darkening.
It hurts to touch it. Damn it. Hugo nuzzles into me, and I pull his face close to mine and find myself reassuring him.
“It’s okay, boy. I’m fine. Did you find anything down here?” I scratch his head and his eyes look at me apologetically. He whines again. “It’s okay,” I repeat. “It’s okay.”
We sit a few moments longer, both of us listening to the sounds of the house.
Almost like waiting for it to breathe. But whatever was happening is over now.
Whatever presence we both sensed is gone.
I carefully pull myself into a standing position and hobble over to the mudroom, still feeling jittery.
The hammer is thankfully where I left it.
I grab it and hammer down the nail, with more force than I know is required.
We’ve got to do something about the floorboards; we’ll soon have a baby crawling around.
Keeping the hammer clenched in my hand, I take a slow walk through the downstairs, peering into each room and clicking on the lights to make sure nothing is lurking.
The house is silent and empty. The only place I don’t check is the basement.
I stand at the top of the stairs, hand braced against the door.
But I can’t bring myself to open it. I feel certain that if I open the door, I’ll see something pale and horrifying at the bottom.
My imagination is in overdrive. I triple-check the lock on the front door, triple-check the security system is on, and give the downstairs one more wary look before Hugo and I slowly make our way back to the stairs.
Hugo jumps back up onto the bed and curls into a tight ball, yawning exaggeratedly.
I go into the bathroom and close the door, still trying to get my heart rate to return to normal.
Looking in the mirror, my face is ashen.
I lean on the countertop and take some deep breaths and then pour myself a glass of water.
My hand shakes as I drink. I’m about to go back into the bedroom when I feel the hairs on my neck standing up.
For a second, I don’t move, and then, I force myself to make a small circle in the bathroom, to validate there’s no one here, somehow hidden in the shadows.
And then I am drawn to the window, looking out into the meadow.
At first, I see nothing but my own reflection in the glass.
But then, as my eyes adjust, I see it. A cloaked figure stands in the meadow at the tree line, slightly hunched and illuminated by the light of the moon.
Even at this distance, I know the figure is looking at me.
A patch of clouds cover the moon and for a few seconds, the meadow is in darkness again.
When the moonlight reappears, the figure is gone.
The window fogs in front of me and I realize that my breath is coming out in shudders.
Was it the serpent or the witch?? The question rattles wildly in my head.
Because I haven’t been afraid of Lydia. I don’t think she means me harm.
And on some level, I’ve always known I could come out of the dreams, even when I’m in them.
But I think of the serpent, coiling and uncoiling in The Forest of the Dead.
I had thought it was a waking dream. But now I’m not so sure.
Now, I have the bone-chilling realization that in entering Lydia’s world, I may have unlocked a door.
And that in waking up, I might have brought something out of the dreamworld with me.